Flames of Ice
by EstelRaca
Summary: When Colonel Mustang is attacked and badly injured by unknown assailants, the entire team must pull together to determine who their enemy is, what he wants… and what exactly it is that he’s done. Will eventually contain spoilers for Episode 25, and d
1. Burn

Disclaimer: I don't know Japanese, so the thought that I own or in any way created this series is rather amusing.

AN: Well, I'm not quite caught up with the series, but already a fic idea is eating at me. This will be AU, simply because otherwise the timing won't work out. It will eventually hold spoilers for Episode 25, as well as for times in Ishbal. The story will probably not have much romance, but what there is will be Roy/Riza. Ed and Al will come in next chapter. Please give constructive criticism, especially if you think characterization ends up off.

**Flames of Ice**

**Part 1**

For a moment Roy lay winded on the rough scrub that was all he could call a lawn, rain drops pattering gently, ever so gently, onto his face, unaware and uncaring of the havoc they were partly responsible for. Staggering back to shaky feet, pointedly keeping his eyes from the blood-dripping liabilities that had once been his gloved hands, Mustang turned to face the flickering conflagration that had once been his house—his _sanctuary_, the one place where he was not a dog of the military, or the man who would be Fuhrer, or even the playboy-colonel. A snarl of pure hate replaced his usual self-assured smirk as a figure stepped out of the smoke.

"Still on your feet?" The man smiled broadly at the fact. "Ah, Flame. Burning all your power without a thought to what will happen next. You're just making this all the more enjoyable."

Mustang didn't answer, merely planting his feet more firmly in the sodden ground, shaking stray locks of rain-and-blood-plastered hair away from his eyes. Not for the first time that night, Roy bitterly wished he could simply snap his fingers and turn the man before him into a human torch.

His opponent's smirk widened at the defiant gesture. "I'm sure you'll feel right at home where I'm going to send you, Roy-boy. Plenty of flames to play with there."

The brief crimson glow that followed the words gave Mustang just enough time to roll out of the way of the alchemical blast, only the edge of the attack striking home. Yet even a glancing blow caused more damage than he could afford, pain lancing through his side and down his left leg as shards of ice and earth embedded themselves deep into his skin.

Between the fatigue, the blood loss, and the added pain, it really didn't surprise him when the next attack caught him full-on. He couldn't help a short scream and a low whimper as the cold enveloped his body, encapsulating him, every inch of his skin alternating between bitter pain and numbness, the air in his lungs seeming to turn to an impossibly dense miasma. God, how he hated cold…

Biting back more cries of pain, Mustang forced the darkness that had encompassed his vision to inch back, allowing him a hazy view of black boots. Mustering his last reserves of strength, Roy forced his head off the ground. Dark eyes locked with ice blue ones. Mustang fought the urge to flinch as his attacker extended his hand, rough fingers reaching under his chin and forcing his head up still farther.

"You just don't know when to stop, do you, Flame? No, you've never known that."

There was a dark hatred in the other's eyes that Roy recognized, one that had been directed toward him far too often during the war in Ishbal from friend and foe alike. Any hope that he would be allowed to live died under that dark gaze.

"You don't like the cold, do you, Roy? You've never liked the cold." The man rocked forward, his white-blonde hair nearly at Mustang's ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't worry, though. You won't be cold for long. You're going to burn, Flame. You're going to burn for everything you've done, and no one will be able to help you."

Roy couldn't suppress a scream as a booted heel slammed down onto his injured right hand, the blackness that had continued to lurk at the edge of his vision swelling, swarming over all his senses despite his efforts to retain his tenuous hold on consciousness.

The last thing he was aware of was the glint of reflected fire off a metal blade.

XXX

_Wrong. Something's wrong._

Even before the thought had finished flashing across her mind, Hawkeye was awake and crouched beside the bed, her pistol clutched tightly in both hands.

She took a few seconds to allow her conscious mind to catch up to her instincts, straining her senses to the limit. What was it that had woken her, kicking all her survival instincts into high gear? Anyone fool enough to break into her apartment would soon find themselves regretting the action.

It took her only a minute and a half to do a thorough sweep of her apartment, checking every possible hiding place, even the ones that would only hide a child as small as Edward. Given some of the stunts the young alchemist had pulled, it was distinctly possible, if not exactly probable, that he and his brother would break into her apartment thinking she had access to information they needed.

Finding no possible threat to herself, it only took Hawkeye four seconds to dial the Colonel's number. Her job was to guard him; if her instincts called out a warning that was not meant for her, it was meant for him.

Less than fifty seconds after calling the Colonel's house, Hawkeye was out the door of her house and in her car, shrugging a jacket on to accompany the pants and white undershirt from her uniform that normally served her as pajamas. She had no doubt that the task force she had ordered would be on their way within minutes, but the sound of an emotionless mechanical voice informing her that the Colonel's number was unavailable had made her doubt whether Roy could afford minutes.

XXX

Ice blue eyes coldly studied their handiwork, brushing away excess blood with a deft swipe. Running over the pattern in his mind, he traced each line and sweep of the symbol with his hand, ensuring that everything was as it should be. Two hands gently came to rest on a bloody chest, setting the forces in motion that would complete the task.

Dark eyes opened for a moment as the circle caught and held the power, directing it inward, a low whimper the only response to what was happening.

A faint smile flashed across the man's face as he studied the prostrate figure before him, one hand reaching out idly to brush dark hair away from glazed eyes.

When he spoke his words were a hoarse whisper, the emotions behind them so mixed as to be barely identifiable.

"You're gonna burn, Flame. Gonna burn."

XXX

Hawkeye saw the light of the fire well before she reached the house, a sinking sensation settling in her stomach for a moment before the rigid training she relied on reasserted control. Only Mustang had enough power to cause that kind of blaze on a night like tonight, with rain pouring from the sky in ever-increasing streams. If he was conscious enough to be starting fires, though, then there was a distinct possibility that she would be unneeded.

Skidding the car to a jarring stop less than a minute from his house, Hawkeye approached the scene cautiously, every sense alert for signs of enemies. Other than the sound of wood cracking and breaking, the hiss of rain and water meeting, everything seemed quiet.

Too quiet. Where were the guards? The colonel's house was to be protected, though surreptitiously, at all times.

Keeping her pistol at the ready, Hawkeye moved cautiously around the burning building and into the front yard. It took her rain-clouded vision a moment to spot the mud-drenched figure face-down on the ground, though once spotted it took only a moment's study to match the form to an identity.

"Colonel Mustang!" Hawkeye shouted his name, hoping that the sound would at least illicit a twitch from the still form. There was no response, though, and Hawkeye had to force herself to scan the yard as she moved slowly toward him, wary of traps yet eager to ensure that life still lingered within the man she was charged to protect.

The first faint sounds of sirens were just audible in the distance when she finally reached her goal, setting down her pistol and swiftly turning the still figure before her over, a slight hitch in her breathing the only outward reaction she allowed at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Blood trickled from small cuts along the left side of his face and neck. His gloved hands, that could control the most unstable element with a simple snap, had been slit clean through to the bone. His blue military uniform had been slit open from top to bottom, and blood poured across his chest in wavering sheets, the angry outlines of an alchemical symbol carved into the skin just visible through it. If not for the mass murders she had seen in Ishbal, some of them caused by Roy's power, she might have been forced to leave his side for a moment and empty her stomach of dinner.

"Colonel Mustang." Still there was no response from the man in her arms… a man that looked much younger, bloody and obviously beaten, than his self-assured air and power politics would allow many people to believe.

"Colonel Mustang." A gentle shake was all Hawkeye dared to give the man in her arms, wary of causing any exacerbation to his injuries. She could already feel the heat of a fever pouring off him in waves.

"Roy." A low moan followed by a slight whimper was the only response she was able to wrest from the dark-haired man, and Hawkeye swallowed dryly, a cold fury building in her heart. It was not right that this should have happened, but especially not right that his attacker—attackers?—should have chosen here, the one place she knew he thought of as a sanctuary.

Another low whimper heralded the opening of pain-glazed dark eyes, and Hawkeye held her commanding officer just a little tighter, hoping to prevent him from moving and causing further damage himself.

"Hold on, Roy. The medics are coming."

A brief nod was the only answer she received before he slipped back down into the depths of unconsciousness. Swearing briefly, Hawkeye gave their surroundings another quick glance, daring whoever had done this to try to get to him again. When nothing answered her challenge, she growled another low curse before turning her full attention back to the unconscious alchemist.

Whoever had done this was going to pay.

Dearly.


	2. Purpose

Disclaimer: I would have massacred the series long before now, so definitely not mine.

AN: I am… thrilled/terrified/amazed/speechless at the number of reviews you guys were kind enough to give, and the depth of the reviews I received for that short little opener simply astounds me. I apologize for the delay in posting, but I wasn't (still am not) completely satisfied with this chapter, so I've been poking and prodding it mercilessly (mainly to no avail). So… anyway… hopefully it isn't too boring, OOC, or anything else…

**Flames of Ice**

**Part 2**

"I'm sorry, sir, but my orders are that I'm supposed to have your name, rank, and identification card before allowing you access to the base."

"But I don't _have_ an identification card! That _watch_ is supposed to—"

"Everyone is issued an identification card, national alchemists included." The dark-haired guard shook his head as he examined the watch.

Al watched in trepidation as his brother glared up—significantly higher up—at the MP's bland expression.

Instead of launching himself at the MP, though, the young alchemist turned with deliberate control to look up at his brother. "Al, when was the last time you saw my identification card? Maybe it was when the chimera was trying to eat me in Conero's palace… no, further back… did I leave it in the desert? No… I guess I might have gotten one at Tucker's, but then with everything that happened… Did I have it on me when Barry was trying to kill me? No, I think it was sometime before that, too… **_I DON'T HAVE A CARD! I HAVEN'T HAD A CARD FOR YEARS! ONLY NATIONAL ALCHEMISTS GET THOSE WATCHES, SO WHY ISN'T THAT ENOUGH?!_**"

The last few lines were shouted with such force and unexpected volume that the MP actually flinched back against the wall for a moment before answering.

"Because these watches can be stolen, forgeries can be manufactured… besides, I know Fullmetal is supposed to be young, but come on, kid, do you really expect me to think you're fifteen at that height?"

Al barely managed to catch his brother in time to keep the youngest National Alchemist in history from becoming a convicted murderer. Ed's patience was lacking at the best of times; when he had been sulking over his impending report to Colonel Mustang was absolutely _never_ a good time.

"Sir, what Nii-san means to say is that—" Al paused to get a better grip on his struggling brother. "—he'd really like to go give his report to the Colonel now and—"

A sudden clap and a flash of light warned Al that he had failed in his quest to keep his brother in line. Sighing, he released his hold and looked to see what damage had been done.

"Nii-san… was that really necessary?" The wall against which the MP had been standing was now holding the man upside down in a giant fist, the frightened soldier's eyes on a level with Ed's.

Ed didn't bother to answer, merely retrieving his watch and relieving the soldier of the keys to the gate, stalking silently onto the military base. Al took it upon himself to free the terrified man before running after his brother.

"Nii-san, the man was simply trying to do his job."

"He was being unreasonable. There's no need for this type of security here. I bet the Colonel set it up just to annoy me."

Al decided silence was the best policy. Logic rarely worked well with his brother, anyway.

"Freeze! Don't move or I'll shoot!"

Ed stopped dead for a moment, his expression black, before he spun around, transmuting his automail arm as he did. "WHAT IS IT ABOUT TODAY THAT NO ONE WANTS ME TO REPORT IN—oh…"

Whatever the young alchemist had planned on saying, it was abruptly halted when he found himself half-strangled by Cain Fury as the sergeant abandoned his pistol on the ground in order to envelope the younger man in a hug. "Edward Elric! Oh, thank God. I really didn't want to die, but I saw the alchemy-light-thing, and Hawkeye would kill me if anybody from last night got in and I didn't do anything but now that you're here things'll be better, much better with a well-trained alchemist on his feet, _two_ well-trained alchemists—"

"Off! Off! Al, get him off me!" Ed hadn't attempted to translate any of the stream of babble into something coherent, too intent on escaping the other man's grasp.

Al simply watched in dumbfounded amazement as Ed wiggled his way out of the ecstatic sergeant-major's hold. Since when had Fury started channeling Armstrong?

Apparently watching the young alchemist somersault a good ten feet away from him was enough to jar the military man back to a semblance of normalcy, though, as he re-holstered his gun, brushing bits of dirt off his pants and shirt before resettling his glasses. The brief flash of an apologetic smile calmed Ed down enough to allow the boy to move within listening distance as Fury gestured toward the main complex.

"I apologize for the… rough welcome, but everyone's been very uptight here since last night. Hawkeye didn't tell us that you'd be returning from your last mission so quickly, so when I saw someone performing alchemy…"

"What happened last night? And why do you keep saying Hawkeye? Did she finally put Mustang in his place?" Ed was careful to keep Al between himself and Fury, wary of any more random assaults on his person.

Fury's pace quickened, his head dropping down until his chin almost rested on his chest. "There was a battle last night. We're not entirely sure what happened, but the Colonel was badly injured, and there's strong evidence that his attackers used alchemy. Hawkeye was the one who found him. He's currently in the medical wing, condition stable, but… well, Hawkeye's nervous. We all are. Someone who could take out the Colonel like that… she doesn't want to risk them getting to him again and finishing the job."

Al simply stared at Fury.

Ed, nearly sprinting in an attempt to keep up with the fast-moving sergeant, seemed equally at a loss for words. Someone had tried—and, judging from Fury's reaction, nearly succeeded—in killing the Colonel.

Someone had beaten the hell out of the Colonel.

"That's not fair!"

Both Al and Fury stopped abruptly to stare down at the young alchemist.

"Nii-san…?"

Ed merely shook his head, unable and unwilling to articulate what was going through his mind. He had already lost friends, family, to the unnamed and unplanned war he was fighting… couldn't they at least have left him his pseudo-enemy? _He_ was supposed to be the one who got to beat Mustang to within an inch of his life… but only when the man's annoying arrogance made it necessary… and only once he had figured out how to keep from being turned into fresh carbon first…

"So Lieutenant Hawkeye's in charge now?" Al asked tentatively, watching Fury expectantly.

The sergeant gave a brief half-shrug. "Not officially, of course. She's outranked by a few people, but Colonel Mustang outranks everyone who's present at the moment, and as his second she simply… took over. No one's complained so far. I think it's because of that training session she showed them with Black Hayate." A brief grin graced Fury's face, disappearing before Al was even certain he had seen it.

"Who do they think it was? Scar? Kimbley?" Ed looked down as they walked, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"No. Scar would have killed him outright and even Kimbley wouldn't have…" Fury trailed off, his face paling slightly.

"Wouldn't have what? What aren't you telling me, sergeant?" Ed tried to force steel into his voice, reminding himself that he was, at least by the books, a major, and thus worthy of a bit of respect.

Still, it felt wrong to be trying to bully Mustang's staff at the moment.

It was also apparently futile, as the only answer he received was a brief head shake. He would apparently need to practice if he wished to be as proficient at arrogance and intimidation as Hawkeye and Mustang.

Grumbling silently to himself, Ed turned his attention to his surroundings, caught off guard by what he saw. "Hey, where're we headed? Isn't the office that way?"

Fury nodded. "It is. Hawkeye isn't."

The rest of the trip to the medical wing, buried deep within the base, was conducted in silence, three sets of footsteps mingling with the distorted echoes of barked orders. It struck Ed as ironic that the oldest of the trio should have the softest footfalls, with no trace of a metallic clang in any of his movements.

Sergeant Fury paused before the door to the medical wing, straightening his uniform again before turning to face the Elric brothers. "I said he was in bad shape, and I meant it. Last time I was down here he was conscious, but he's pretty banged up, not necessarily completely coherent. Small cuts all along the left side of his face—they look really nasty, and a few went pretty deep, but none of them will cause permanent damage. Probable concussion, multiple bruises… both hands were sliced down the bone. Whoever it was didn't want to take a chance on him being able to use any alchemy. He lost a lot of blood. Fever's already set in. As for the other… Hawkeye'll explain that."

Fury didn't give either brother a chance to react, straightening and marching with rigid military control into the medical wing, the two boys trailing him silently.

XXX

Waking up in pain was rarely a good thing.

Waking up with a woman next to you usually _was_ a good thing.

Waking up in pain with Hawkeye next to his bed, the first lieutenant eager to pry information from him but slow to answer any questions he managed to slip in, gave Colonel Roy Mustang a new definition of the word torture.

"—so it would appear that the property is a total loss. The investigators from Intelligence are still searching through the rubble, but the rain has erased most of the evidence, and it would be very helpful if you could—sir, stop scratching." The inflection of Hawkeye's voice didn't change as she reprimanded her superior officer.

Apparently the medics had given him something for the pain, because though he ordered his tongue to explain that scratching when both his hands and his chest were thoroughly encased in bandages was quite simply infeasible, the most he could manage being a gentle patting motion, a voice suspiciously like his own stated, "But it itches."

Hawkeye remained silent for a suspiciously long time, her expression perfectly neutral and beyond reproach. "Itches, sir?"

Roy nodded briefly, stifling the urge to wince as the various cuts and scrapes along the left side of his head and neck stretched.

It would also have helped if the dwarves inside his head could find something besides his skull to use as a musical instrument.

Attempting to gather up the scattered threads of his thoughts into one coherent stream, he nodded again. "Itches, Lieutenant. I can feel every line of that array he carved into me. It… _itches_."

Roy frowned slightly and sank further down into the pillow. Explaining what he was feeling would have been difficult on a good day; there simply weren't words in the common languages to describe many of the effects and feelings of alchemy. Attempting to do so when he was drugged would simply convince his second in command that he had completely forfeited control of his senses.

A gentle hand resettling his on the bed caused him to focus his wandering attention. "Colonel, I know you're not feeling well, but if you could—"

Roy studied his lieutenant carefully. It was odd to see her from an upward angle.

"Why didn't he kill me?"

"Sir?" Hawkeye's hand remained over his, stilling the impulse to resume patting futilely at the bandages surrounding the array carved into his skin.

"He could have killed me. He knew how to disable me from the beginning. My hands were the first thing he cut. If I didn't still carry chalk, and manage to draw out a circle, I wouldn't have gotten even a single strike in. He wanted me dead. I could see that in his eyes. So why did he decide to brand me like a… like a…"

"Horse, sir?"

Roy glared suspiciously at his lieutenant, but quickly gave up on finding any trace of humor on her face. "Why didn't he simply kill me?"

Hawkeye shook her head slowly. "I don't know, Colonel. You're certain that you didn't know him?"

"Fairly certain. It wasn't an Ishvarite… his hair was very pale, nearly white, and his eyes are blue… cold as ice. That's what he did, you know. At least part of it. Turned the rain into ice. Definitely not Kimbley… he can't do that, plus he wouldn't have toyed with me for that long. I… don't know his name…" Roy closed his eyes, the pain in his head reaching an all-new blinding crescendo, his hands throbbing in rhythm with his heart.

"But you recognized him? Colonel?"

A gentle hand smoothed sweat-drenched hair off his forehead, and for a moment Roy simply relaxed, secure in the knowledge that his lieutenant would face hell itself before allowing anything to happen for him.

It was only when both hands withdrew and a new voice joined the conversation that he realized she had been checking his temperature again.

"Hawkeye." Roy forced both eyes open again.

"Sir?" Neither her stance nor her voice had changed; if not for the fact that the doctor was now fiddling with his IV again, he wouldn't have believed she had moved at all.

"I don't know his name… but he was… familiar."

A brief, puzzled frown passed across Hawkeye's face. "From when?"

"I… don't know."

"From the war? Another alchemist in the war?"

Mustang shook his head vigorously, regretting the action a moment later. He knew every alchemist that had been in the war… all of them knew each other. It was something that, even if it hadn't created bonds, had at least forged eternal memories.

"From before."

This time the puzzled expression didn't leave his lieutenant's face. "From before the war, sir?"

"Yes." Roy nodded, struggling to keep his eyes open. Apparently another painkiller had been added to the mixture of drugs being fed directly into his veins. "Have an alchemist… study the symbol. Find out what he… branded me… as…"

"I'll look into it, Colonel. Just rest. You're safe here." Hawkeye's hand again captured his in a gentle hold, halting the attempted scratching before he was even aware of it.

"Of course." Roy gave a half-hearted attempt at his usual cocky smile before surrendering to the beckoning darkness.

XXX

Hawkeye watched in silence as her commanding officer once again sank into the depths of unconsciousness, far beyond her grasp. A small sigh was the only physical outlet she allowed herself as he went completely limp, the hand that she had gently captured no longer tense beneath the layers of bandaging.

He had been conscious. That was always a good thing. If not for the pain, and the drugs that had aided in disconnecting his thoughts, he would have been the same as on any other day. A brief, bitter smile broke through Hawkeye's façade.

Today was most certainly not like any other day.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Sergeant Fury." Hawkeye straightened at the sound of her name, withdrawing her hand from the colonel's slowly and deliberately. Turning to face Fury, she found herself unable to quite contain a relieved smile at the two young men accompanying him. "Edward. Alphonse."

Neither boy responded, both their gazes focused on the man beside her. Hawkeye fought the urge to sigh again. It was only natural that the brothers would be caught off-guard by something like this. Gesturing briefly, she led the small group out of the colonel's room, studying their expressions while keeping her own stoically impersonal.

Fury, despite his best efforts, once again looked like simply seeing the colonel had been worse than a kick to the gut.

Edward couldn't seem to decide between anger, pity, and shock.

As for Alphonse… if there was a way to make a suit of armor look extremely distressed, then Al had mastered it.

"I'm glad to see you're back, Fullmetal, Alphonse. According to the Colonel's notes, you weren't expected for several more days."

"The inspection went quickly, and Nii-san decided not to procrastinate…" A quick glare from his brother caused Al to trail off. "He decided to come back and give his report so that we can continue with our own journey."

Hawkeye nodded, a brief smile playing around her mouth. Everyone knew that the Fullmetal Alchemist loathed reporting in.

All traces of a smile disappeared as Edward finally looked up at her and spoke.

"What did they do to him?"

"Did Sergeant Fury not fill you in on what's happened?" Hawkeye glanced toward the other man.

"That's not what I meant. He reeks of someone else's alchemy. He… feels wrong." Ed rubbed furiously at his nose.

Hawkeye turned from the older brother to the younger, hoping for clarification.

"I felt it too, though not like I could when I had my human body. It's one of the first things we're taught… to feel another's alchemy. Usually it's only a very light tingle unless they're actually transmuting something. Colonel Mustang… feels wrong." Al shook his head helplessly, unable to add any more to his brother's description.

_I can feel every line of that array he carved into me. It… _itches

That explained one thing, at least.

"Fury, why don't you go find Havoc and ask him to take the next watch down here."

"Yes, ma'am." Fury saluted briefly before nearly sprinting away, looking supremely relieved to be leaving the medical wing.

Hawkeye turned her attention back to the two young men before her, both of whom were casting disquieting looks toward Colonel Mustang's room. "The Colonel's attacker carved an array into his chest. We're not sure what it means, or whether it's something that we should worry about. If you'll come with me, I'll show you the symbol, as well as give you access to the colonel's library."

The last phrase obviously caught Ed's full attention, the boy whipping his head around so quickly that Hawkeye feared his neck would snap.

"I will, of course, expect you to respect his privacy."

Al turned to look at his brother, something decidedly like embarrassment crossing his face. "Nii-san will behave, Lieutenant. After all, it's not kind to take advantage of situations like this."

"Hey, I wouldn't have taken advantage of this!" Ed glared at his younger brother. "When I told him I'd never die before him, I expected us both to die somewhere far in the future."

Al seemed unmoved by his brother's quick response.

Hawkeye allowed herself another small sigh as she led the way through the maze of corridors, the brother's continuing their small quarrel behind her.

She might be relieved to have alchemists of their strength on hand at the moment, but she could have done without the constant threat of alchemical war breaking out behind her.

XXX

"This… is probably one of the most confusing arrays I've ever seen in my life."

Al merely nodded agreement, staring over his brother's shoulder.

Ed traced his finger around the circle, pausing each time his finger touched a point of intersection.

"Three concentric circles… three triangles… this… I thinks it's the salamander at the lowest point. You should recognize that, Lieutenant. It's for fire. The colonel has this one on his glove. All of the points inward, forming a star… no symmetry, though… what's this in top right? A half-moon? And this… water... a river… no… I don't know." Ed twisted the diagram several times, hoping to come to a better understanding of what was depicted. "Are you certain this is accurate?"

"Quite certain. As you can see, it is a bit beyond my knowledge of alchemy, and the colonel was in no position to be attempting to determine its purpose himself. If you two are comfortable, I need to see to the investigation, as well as to the security. It would appear one of our guards allowed a young child and a giant robot access to the base after the child transmuted a stone wall into a fist with which to capture him."

Both brothers managed to keep an innocent appearance on their face despite Hawkeye's questioning frown.

Ed sighed in relief as the lieutenant turned and walked away.

"I told you patience was a good thing, nii-san."

"Says who? The lieutenant needs us, so she won't court-martial us."

"At least not until the colonel's better." Al twisted the sheet of paper with the sketch, looking at it from yet another angle. "Why would someone design something like this?"

"The same reason we designed our own circle. They want something." Ed browsed through the bookshelves full of material. "He's got an impressive collection here for one guy. Colonel's pay must be good. Most of it's about energy… like you'd expect… but some…"

Al turned to his brother. "What is it, nii-san?"

"Some of these… they're biological. Very biological." Ed reached out tentatively and removed a book from the case. "We've seen most of these before… but not here. He's got a lot of guts, keeping these in plain sight."

Al gently removed the book from his brother's hands and placed it back on the shelf.

"Maybe they're not to use. Maybe they're to remind him of what's forbidden."

Ed shrugged briefly in answer, turning back to the bookcases with a feigned dispassion that would have fooled most people.

"Well, look here! The colonel's journals. Shall we see how hard his code is to break, Al?" The young alchemist grinned as he picked up one of the bound journals with Roy Mustang scrawled along the side.

"Nii-san, we told Lieutenant Hawkeye that you'd behave!"

"No, _you_ told Lieutenant Hawkeye that I'd behave. I had no part… in… that…" Ed's voice trailed off as he continued to read, an expression that Al had never seen before slowly engulfing his face.

"Nii-san?" Curious, Al moved around until he could read over his brother's shoulder.

It was nearly twenty seconds before either boy reacted, Ed tossing the journal away from him as though it were cursed and scrubbing his hands on his pants. "Tell me that was a code… tell me that was a code… please please please tell me that's part of his code…"

"Nii-san!" Al's wail was nearly an octave higher than normal. "I'm only fourteen! I'm not supposed to know stuff like that!"

Ed stopped a moment to process the information before turning on his brother. "And I am?! I didn't even know that was physically possible!"

If anything, Al looked even more traumatized than before.

Taking pity on his younger sibling, Ed managed to reign in his emotions enough to give the suit of armor a gentle thump on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm sure it was all just part of his code, meant to throw off potential thieves."

Al nodded slowly. "I think it worked."

"It definitely worked. Come on, let's figure out what this thing means so we can get out of here." Ed paused for a moment. "I'm never going to be able to look at him the same way again."

The two brothers shared a look before tackling the bookshelves in earnest, both pointedly attempting to forget what they had seen in the colonel's journal.

XXX

"We paid you to kill him, Matthew, not to toy with him. You assured us that the job would be completed." The voice echoing over the telephone could have been that of a robot save for the slight, gruff accent that marked it.

"It is completed. Just because he's not quite in his grave yet doesn't mean the man won't be soon." Matthew made certain to keep his voice as cold as his eyes. It was the only way to deal with men like this.

"When you were hired, it was with a guarantee that any personal vendetta you had against the target would be carefully separated from your job." The voice in his ear matched his tone perfectly, not a shred of emotion showing.

"Sometimes there's simply no such thing as separating them. Don't worry. Call HQ in another forty-eight hours, and I guarantee you'll have your results."

"You had best be right. For your sake."

Matthew frowned as a dial tone sounded abruptly in his ear. That had been rather rude of them… not that he expected much more from those who would turn on their own.

As for his own agenda… Mustang had stolen his future and used it to become a murderer. He would pay for his thievery, though… first with his sanity, and then with his life.

XXX

Waking up the second time seemed even worse than the first.

Perhaps that was because the first time he had been somewhat relieved to be waking up at all.

Cracking one eye open was all that was necessary to ensure that Hawkeye wasn't still standing at attention beside his bed. He would have hated to have to attempt to order her to work, but if she didn't see to things he sincerely doubted they would be done.

That was, of course, why she wasn't here any more.

This begged the question of why he was still disappointed not to find her by his bed-side.

Firmly heading that thought path off, Roy turned to a self-inventory, ensuring that nothing further had happened while he was out, surreptitiously maneuvering his fingers slightly as he did, wincing at the pain. It might not have been wise to move them, but he couldn't help it. His hands had controlled his power and, thus, his life and his career for longer than he could remember. They had made him a murderer in Ishbal, a hero once outside the war. The thought that he might no longer be able to use them was, quite simply, terror inducing.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be—relatively speaking—the colonel turned his attention to his surroundings. Nothing had changed there, either, during his rest. In fact, very little ever changed in hospital rooms, especially military ones. They had a disturbing propensity for being excruciatingly dull.

It took Roy Mustang approximately six minutes and eleven seconds, give or take three minutes, to determine that he was bored.

Extremely bored. No matter how fun counting spots on the ceiling appeared to an outsider, much of the charm was lost when it was the only possible activity despite the fact that a man who wanted you dead was still running loose.

He would have asked for a book to read, or for his alchemical records to work on, but it was rather hard to turn pages or write with hands as thoroughly wrapped as his were. He would have to point this out sometime to Fullmetal as the proper way to disable another alchemist.

On the plus side, it meant he had a legitimate excuse to ignore any paperwork that Hawkeye placed in front of him for at least a few weeks.

Stretching slowly, Roy decided that now might be a good time to catch up on his training. It had been nearly a decade since he had done any of the breathing exercises his first teacher had shown him… and if they worked as well now as they had then, there was a good likelihood he would be sleeping again within ten minutes.

He very nearly was asleep when the first hint of the smell registered in his mind, jerking him abruptly back to full awareness. Something smelled of fire, but a dulled fire, nearly non-existent…fire and…

Tobacco. Roy gave a brief half-smile as he realized what the smell was. Hawkeye had apparently set a guard on him, and if his nose wasn't deceiving him it was John Havoc, overcome by the need for a cigarette.

It was tempting to think of the surprise on his subordinate's face if the small fire inside the cigarette were to spring to full life again… or, even better, spring out of the cigarette and into Roy's hand. The man would think twice about doing something that Mustang was fairly certain Hawkeye had ordered him not to do in the medical wing.

It would certainly relieve the boredom… though with the loss of his gloves he didn't have an array to work with, and the control that was needed to perform his little stunt quite probably required a cohesiveness of thought and intent that was a bit beyond him at the moment…

Still, it was tempting…

A moment later, all hell broke loose.


End file.
